


Give & Take Chs. 16 & 17

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: An ocean of chaos will sometimes yield a pearl of wisdom if you are willing to open up to the possibilities.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008  
> 26 chapters  
> I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist and do not have a medical degree

                                                                                      Ch.16 (Warren Alpert Chronicles P.5)

**In order to see the light, one must first know the dark, because the light can only be seen in the darkness.**  
  
       Warren’s eyes fluttered open in the dimly lit bedroom. He whooshed out a contented exhale and blinked once, twice as the light of the moon shone through the leaded glass windows. The evening had been perfect, the likes of which he hadn't seen in a long time. Nights without endless paperwork or professional functions were few and far between, and he luxuriated in the sinful indulgence of nothingness.  
  
       As a warm hand stroked his back in lazy circles, he couldn’t stop the soft moan. Not that he wanted to stifle it. Definitely not.  
  
      “You awake?”  
  
       Feathery kisses flirted with his body's need to sleep. “Hmm, barely. I’m still in the sexual stupor you so generously decided I should visit.” The man awakened feelings in him like no other. His fingers roamed across Alex's forehead and brushed over his eyelids, but their journey was cut short when they were caught by a hungry mouth. His breath quickened at the nip.  
  
      Alex chuckled and continued his lustful worship. “Well, I’m glad I could oblige. After all, the only reason I'm here is to serve your every whim.”  
  
      “I remember how—” The shrill sound of his phone's emergency ring interrupted his thought. “Sorry, I really have to take this.”  
  
      “Answer it,” Alex urged, throwing his lean legs over the side of the bed.  
  
       His mind raced as he grabbed the phone. Who would be in such distress to call at this hour? “Hello, hello?”  
  
      “W-W-Warren?”  
  
      “Who is this?”  
  
      “Justin, Justin Taylor.”  
  
      “Justin, what’s wrong?”  
  
      “I...I...Oh, God! Warren, he knew! How the fuck? It was awful! You don’t...I don’t know how...I mean we were almost...Oh God, why?”  
  
       He cringed at the breathless gasps and sniffled breaths. “Justin?” Fuck! What triggered this emotional collapse?  
  
      “Something happened....”  
  
      “I can barely hear you.” After several seconds of silence, he pressed the phone against his ear and spoke louder. “Justin!”  
  
      “Wh...What?”  
  
      “Where are you?”  
  
      “I, I’m not sure, some street corner, somewhere. I don’t feel well. I ran too fast, and I threw up and I....”  
  
       Alex hastily scribbled a note on a piece of paper.  Ask him what he sees. Does he recognize anything?

      “Justin, can you tell me what you see from where you’re standing? Are you on Liberty Avenue or near Brian’s place? Anything look familiar, anything at all?”

      “Uh, hold on.”

       He covered the phone and turned to Alex. “Not good!”

      “Okay, I’m near the bakery between First and Tremont. Fuck! I feel like I’m seventeen again! Why the fuck does this always happen?”

       He silently thanked whatever deities there were in the universe. “Justin? Listen very carefully. You’re two blocks from me. I’m on the corner of Third and Tremont, number 46, apartment 3A. I want you to come to my place.”

      “Now? But it’s—”

      “Now, Justin! Right now! Do you remember my address?”

      “Um, yeah, 46, 3A”

      “Good. Start walking as soon as we hang up. I’ll be waiting for you.”

      “Yeah, all right. I...thanks."

      “Forget it. We’ll talk when you get here.” His mouth hardened in a tight line as he shut the phone and pulled on sweat pants.

      “I think it would be better if I left,” Alex said and tugged his indigo sweater over his head. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for him to see me here.”

      “No, it probably wouldn’t.” They headed toward the entry foyer that he had transformed into a photo gallery of his life and travels. Alex had teased him about the perfect placement of the artwork until he grudgingly confessed Laura did most of it.

       Alex slipped an arm into his coat sleeve. “Without getting into patient confidentiality, how has he been doing?”

      “He _was_ doing well. Very well, as a matter of fact _._ I don't know what the fuck happened.”

      “Hopefully, it’s not a major backslide. Remember, one step forward, two steps backward, but they _do_ get there. A word of advice, though. When Brian Kinney is involved, nothing goes the way it's supposed to.”

      “Thanks for the heads-up.” He trailed a finger across Alex's mouth. “Why did we ever break up?”

      “Because both of us had issues we couldn’t resolve. And we were brilliant enough to realize it would never work out—at least as a monogamous, long term relationship.”

      “You mean you’re open for a polygamous quick fuck every now and then?”

      “Absolutely. I’d forgotten how persuasive you were.”

      “Glad to hear it. After tonight, so am I. Besides, it’ll give Laura one more conundrum to figure out.” He smiled at the mental image of her in a Sherlock Holmes cap.

      “Well, she certainly is persistent and a damn good assistant. You’re lucky to have her, Warren.”

      “You’re not kidding.” He checked his watch. “Listen, you’d better go. He'll be here any minute.”

      “Stay in touch?”

      “Just try and stop me. Speak with you soon?”

      “Don't you mean _see_ you soon?”

       He ran his hand down the stubbled cheek.“That’s exactly what I mean.”

                                                                                                       * * *  
       Alex shivered as the night air shocked his system. Damn, it was freezing! After the warmth of Warren’s body, the bitter frost was even more numbing. He couldn’t get into the car fast enough and quickly turned on the motor and the heater.

       Huddled in the seat, he leaned against the headrest and replayed the evening. Like the last two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, they were a perfect fit. The sex was as passionate and fulfilling as it was when they were together. Thank God they were able to break up without the usual acrimony. Otherwise, an evening like this never could happen. And that would be a shame.

       When the heat finally penetrated the car's chill, he checked his voice mail. “Hey, Alex, it’s Matt. Great seeing you the other night. Let’s set up a date for lunch or _something else_.”

      “Dr. Wilder, this is the National Association of Mental Health. We received your application to attend the conference in Chicago and will be contacting you shortly with the particulars.”

      “Alex, it’s Kim. Don’t forget Mom’s birthday next week.”  She was forever reminding him of family occasions, even though he never forgot a single one.

       He pulled out of the parking space and clicked on the last message. “This is Brian Kinney. Set it up.”

                                                                                                       * * *  
      When a distraught Justin entered the apartment, Warren had to use all of his professional cunning to get the shell-shocked man to sit. “Justin, calm down. Breathe.” He squatted in front of the chair and looked into the liquid-filled blue eyes.

     “He knew, Warren! All the time, he knew. He hates me! It’s all fucking over!”

     “Look at me,” he ordered, keeping his tone soft and even. With no response other than a choked intake of air, he reached out and raised the quivering chin. Long eyelashes glistened under the weight of tears, reminding him of blades of grass bathed in morning dew. “Tell me what happened.”

                                                                                                       * * *  
       Justin tried to swallow his sobs, but shudders ran through him with every gulp and he couldn't stop the spigot. After reliving the events in painful detail, he blew his chafed nose and wiped it with a tissue. Any embarrassment he originally felt disappeared half a box of tissues and a bucketful of tears ago. The box on his lap was almost depleted, its contents scattered on the floor like crumpled flowers of disappointment that needed an answer to the question— _he loves me, he loves me not?_ He cleared his parched throat and shifted in the chair.

      “Let me get you some water.”

      “Thanks. That'd be great.”

       He clutched the bottle with shaky hands and managed a few small sips. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “I feel as if everything in my life isn’t what I thought it was. Everything's changed, and I’m scared it won’t ever be the same, But I don’t know how to get it back to where it was.”

      “Maybe it shouldn't go back to the way it was. Maybe that’s why everything’s happened the way it has, the way things have played out so far.”

       He twisted the tissue in his hands and eyed him warily.

      “Seriously, hear me out. All of the unspoken problems between the two of you had been festering for a while. You and Brian have been tugging from opposite ends of a rubber band. The more you pulled, the more it stretched, and unless one of you relaxed his hold, it was inevitable the band would snap.” He leaned closer. “Maybe it’s time to build a new house of Brian and Justin, one with a stronger foundation, one that can withstand any storm, any kind of weather.”                                     

       A miniscule grin escaped at the use of his own metaphor from an earlier session. With a dreamlike expression, he murmured, “I’ve been chasing him ever since I met him. In some ways, I still am. He used to call me his stalker but it never bothered me. I knew if I didn’t go after him, he’d never come after me. I, I guess I’m not going to stop now either.” He shrugged. “I can't live with him and I can't live without him.”

                                                                         _“They said, ‘Every night he will break your heart.’_  
_I should have known I'd be the broken hearted,_  
_But I loved you from the start.”_    _©S.Nicks_

       Hurting inside and out, he struggled to his feet and stretched. The physical pain would go away, but the emotional ache? Exhausted, all he wanted was to sleep. “I’d better be going. I’m really sorry for all this, Warren.”

      “Don’t you dare apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad I was here when you called.”

      “Me, too.” He didn’t want to think what would have happened if he hadn’t been able to talk with him.

      “Do you have a place to stay? I assume you don’t want to go back to the loft.”

      “That’s the last place I want to be. I’ll give my friend Daphne a call. I can crash at her place.”

       Warren looked at his watch. “She’ll be okay with you showing up so late?”

      “Yeah, she’s great like that. All of my friends are used to this, showing up at odd hours of the night.” He paused at the door. “Thanks again for everything. I mean it.”

      “I want you to call my office in the morning to schedule an earlier appointment. Promise me you'll do that.”

      “I will. Promise.”  
                                                                                                    * * *

       Warren rested his head against the closed door. Anxious to type up notes from the evening, he turned off the unnecessary lights and headed toward his desk. He threw a wistful glance at the bedroom. That part of the night seemed so very long ago.

                                                         _“So I would choose to be with you, That's if the choice were mine to make._  
_But you can make decisions, too._ _And you can have this heart to break.”_ _©B.Joel_

 

                                                                                                   #  #  #

                                                                           Ch.17 (Warren Alpert Chronicles P.6)

                                     **CONTINUES DIRECTLY FROM CH.7 Here** : <http://archiveofourown.org/works/8102758>

 

**They professed to love him for so many unknown reason and they ignored all the things he wished he could be loved for. He had always felt their defensive, reproachful expectation; they seemed wounded by anything he said. It was not a matter of his words or actions, it was almost as if they were wounded by the mere fact of his being.**    _©A.Rand_

 

      “Brian? _Who_ are you losing?” A lesser man would have burned under the mutinous glare **,** but Warren stood his ground. If they were going to do this, Brian would have to trust him, at least a little. And that wasn't going to be easy. Uncomfortable issues would have to be addressed and painful questions would have to be asked before they could move forward.  
  
       Despite the initial spotty data, he'd already formed a fairly accurate profile, thanks to Alex filling in some of the blanks during their dinner and Justin's information from their sessions. He didn't need Laura's initial warning on the chart per Alex: handle with kid gloves  to confirm that he wasn't the normal patient. And if Justin’s account of last night was accurate—there was no reason to believe it wasn't—he had his work cut out for him.  
  
       He didn't miss the affected nonchalance as he strolled around the office, feigning interest in the various plaques and diplomas on the wall. Laura had fussed over their placement, rearranging each one until she was satisfied they displayed his accomplishments in the best possible light.  
  
       He patiently waited. This was a man who couldn’t be pushed, who _wouldn’t_ be pushed. He’d bolt if cornered, like a wild beast with instincts too sharp for his own good after spending most of his time alone in the private jungle of his mind and heart. But a subtle gesture gave him away. The average person wouldn't have spotted the _tell_ as it was called in poker, but to his trained eye, it was impossible to miss—the slight tremble of a hand through disheveled hair and the imperceptible whoosh of breath through gritted teeth. This was not Mr. Joe Cool With An Attitude who only cared about himself.   
  
_“Have you heard about the lonesome loser?  
                                                                                 He doesn’t show what goes on in his head,  
                                                                                 But if you watch very closely, you’ll see it all.”_ _©Briggs_  
  
        Brian faced him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.“You mean the meddlesome Dr. Wilder hasn’t given you a blow-by-blow description about me and...” He gave another deep exhale. “About me and Justin?”  
  
       “He gave me _some_ information,” he said, deliberately ignoring the double entendre. A pissing match would only aggravate the tenuous situation. “But it was just the basics. Not enough if I’m going to help you.”  
  
       “Who said I needed help?” The words sliced through the air like flying daggers.  
  
        He went with a gut feeling. He was taking a chance, but instinct told him he had to throw the rulebook away to make a dent in the armor. _Here goes nothing._  
  
        Keeping his posture nonthreatening, he stood and leaned against his desk with his arms folded. “Let’s not play games. It’s an expensive waste of time, yours and mine. You _do_ need help. You know it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called Alex, and as I said before, you wouldn’t be here if you didn't _want_ help.”  
  
_“Sit down, take a look at yourself.  
                                                                                      Someday, somebody’s gonna see inside.  
                                                                                      You have to face up, you can’t run and hide.”_ _©Briggs_  
  
        Unfazed by the steady gaze that matched his own, he went on. “Now, I _can_ help you, if you’ll let me. But if you’re going to fight me every step of the way, let’s save ourselves a lot of time and cut our losses now.” He tried to gage his reaction and could feel the wheels churning as he debated whether or not the absolution was worth the penance. From what he'd heard, Brian Kinney wasn’t the type to cut and run, but if still waters ran as deep as he suspected, all bets were off.  
  
       “Do you always give up this easily, Doc?”  
  
        _He's testing the water._ Everything depended on his answer to the loaded question. It was pass or fail with no in-between, no margin for error. He chose his response with care. It was more important to address what wasn't asked than what was. “Actually? I never give up. I’m not a quitter. I don’t like to lose, personally or professionally.” When an eyebrow rose in acknowledgement, a satisfied thrill raced up his spine. _Ah ha! Common ground._  
  
       “However,” he continued, “I’m not a masochist. I don’t mind fighting uphill battles. I'll scrap with the best of them, but, and it’s a big but, I’m also not into beating my head against the wall, fighting a _losing_ battle.” He returned to his chair and said, “I’d rather cut my, _our_ losses early. Time is too valuable a commodity to waste, as is money.”  
  
        With the intense events of last night and the obvious strain on his face, how long would it take for him to open up and let his guard down, even a fraction?  
                                                                                            * * *

        Brian paused his restless pacing and stared out the leaded, dirt-streaked window. It was snowing. Again. The dreariness outside mirrored his inner gloom. The key difference was that Mother Nature had a built in promise of rebirth and light to heal winter's bitter sting and icy darkness. He didn’t have that luxury.  
  
        He was tired of snow, tired of winter, tired of _—_ “I did something last night I’m not proud of,” he blurted quietly.  
  
       “Do you want—”  
  
       “No! No, I don’t! I don’t want to bare my soul!”  
  
       “Hey, no problem. One question, though. Was anyone else involved?”  
  
        Fuck! He didn't, he couldn't.... This was too hard. His voice hitched.  “Justin, I hurt...Justin.” _“_  
  
       “Okay. Now, I have to ask you something else because it will play a major role in how we deal with your ‘questions.’ Did you hurt him physically?”  
  
        He whirled around. _What the fuck kind of person does he think I am?_ “I'm not like my— I’ve spent my whole life— I’d _never_ do anything to him. Never!”  
  
        The merry-go-round of childhood memories surfaced once again _._ Which Hallmark moment would be the preferred stop of the day _?_ He flinched as his mind recreated the physical sensation of each one. Like yesterday.  
  
_“Well, I guess we all have these feelings, some of them learned as a child._  
_But the things that we’re concealing, we can’t leave unreconciled._  
_They’ll never let us grow. You’ve got to let it go.”_ _©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_  
  
        He rubbed the back of his neck—great, another fucking headache—and strode across the room with measured steps. He placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned in, tension vibrating from every pore. “Let’s get this out in the open now so you know what you’re dealing with. My mother is a frigid bitch who already has me condemned to hell for my disgusting lifestyle. Little does she know that her holier-than-thou Father Fuckface is going straight to hell with me. But according to the Bible of St. Joan, if I repent and say I’m sorry that I’m queer and promise not to fuck, suck, rim or ram, I can still be saved, praise the Lord!  
  
       “My father? What are you supposed to say when someone’s dead, God rest or good riddance? My father was an abusive drunk who took the phrase ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ to a whole new level after he had a few, which was more often than not. Dear, departed Jack was a poster dad for ‘children should be seen and not heard,’ except when they were having the shit beat out of them for no reason other than just existing, which it seems he never wanted me to do anyway.  
  
       “My sister has as many neuroses as I do, only she’s too blind and chicken shit to admit them, and to top it off, she’s spawned a kid who already has a cell reservation at the local jail with his name on it. So there you have it, Dr. Alpert, _Leave It to Beaver_ and _Father Knows Best_ all rolled into one happy family. Now, is there anything I might have missed or can we move on?” He sank into the chair next to the desk and toyed with the paper clip holder, not trusting his shaking hands to stay still.  
  
        Warren leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Brian, tell me about Justin.”

 

Continued here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/10345512>


End file.
